Where Was It
by Pandastacia
Summary: She gives hugs when she's saying goodbye. Too bad he never realized that. Diverges from canon at Dumbledore's death, FYI. Dramione. For ohaitharitselle- MERRY CHRISTMAS.


**Disclaimer: I do not possess the right to the Harry Potter verse- I just possess the insane obsession with messing with it.  
****Dedication: ELLE! CHRISTMAS! FIC! GIFT! Hope you had a wonderful day. :D  
Notes: Draco _did_ kill Dumbledore in this verse. A lot of things are different here, so pretend book seven didn't happen. AU. **

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_**Yesterday, 8:00 AM**_

She gave him a hug before she left.

"I can't see why you can't tell me where you're going," he complained right before bending down to give her a kiss on the lips. It was quick; a part of the daily ritual he was so well versed in that he didn't even think about it. Like usual, she smelled like lilacs, lavender, and old libraries with older books and even silence.

Laughing lightly, she clapped her hand over her mouth and winked at him. "It's a _secret_. Didn't your mother ever teach you to let a girl keep her secrets?" She proceeded to poke him in his hard chest with a finger before wagging it at him disapprovingly.

"But it doesn't need to be a secret," Draco muttered, stuffing his hands in his pockets and glaring at his girlfriend half-heartedly. "What if someone decides that they want you, Perdita?" _You're _mine_,_ he thought possessively.

For a second, he could've sworn that she froze in surprise- as if _surprised_ about his feelings for her- before relaxing. "I'm already owned."

Standing up on her tiptoes as Draco found himself unable to move, Perdita kissed him on the cheek.

_She gave him a hug before she left and all he did was touch the spot on his cheek as if he was seven again._

-o-

_She had been leaning against his chest as they stared at the sky, waiting for the lunar eclipse to start. A curly lock of her blonde hair had been spinning around her finger as her eyes looked expectantly up._

"_If you were to disappear," Perdita had said slowly all of a sudden, "would you send me a note if you could?"_

"_Why would I disappear?"_

"_That's not important." She had scowled deeply, but he had known that she was hardly serious- though her question… "Just… would you?"_

_He had blinked. "Of course."_

"_When?"_

"_I wouldn't leave without letting you know what happened."_

"_Huh."_

"_What about you?"_

_She hadn't even needed to think. "I'd send you a note on the second day, if I could."_

"_Why wouldn't you just _tell_ me?"_

_Perdita had turned her head just slightly, so that her nose brushed the skin shown where his collar was open. Her warm brown eyes had his gray ones caught in their corners and he felt his heart… _vanish_. It was familiar, yet not and his mind just… blanked._

"_What if I really didn't disappear? It wouldn't do to worry you for nothing. Either way, on the first day, you won't miss me. The second day, you'll notice I'm gone and you'll freak out- so I'll send you the note then, so you'll know. I'd leave it in my secret place."_

"_What's your secret place?"_

_She had looked away then- up into the sky and pointed. "Look, Draco." And his eyes traced the slow indent of the gold eclipse, completely mesmerized._

_He had forgotten to ask her again._

-o-

_**Today, 11:00 AM**_

He wakes up late today. Draco remembers last night, sitting in the living room, twirling his wand between long fingers. He had focused on the flames tickling the brick of the fireplace instead of that niggling feeling in the back of his mind that _something was wrong_.

Then again, everything is wrong, isn't it?

Sitting up, he grabs his wand off his bedside table and looks next to him. Perdita's side is not slept in and he's sure of that. Draco has never been the type of person to move much in his sleep and that's one of the few things that has not changed. Even when he's having nightmares of bright blue eyes dying in front of his wand and bright green light, he's still- the first time he and Perdita had shared a bed, she'd freaked out and had shaken him awake just to make sure he was still alive.

The memory of her concern for him makes him soften slightly, but Draco knows it's not visible on the outside. When Voldemort is in charge of the world, letting your emotions show is a bad idea- he has learned that the hard way.

He checks his silver watch again; it's 11:15.

She's not here.

His pale eyebrows draw together and crease his forehead, where premature worry lines had just begun to heal with the gentle touch of a woman's love. Drawing himself out of bed, he stalks to his closet and slips into a pair of sweatpants that hang loose on his hips.

Considerations bombard his mind- of what could and couldn't be, of who he can and cannot contact to ask- to the point that he's making coffee and a little splash of it spills on his wrist and he _hisses_.

Looking around instinctively, he's _confused_. Why won't the pain go away?

Then he remembers- Perdita isn't around with her stock of essence of dittany that she constantly replenishes, and he's never been a fair hand at healing.

Draco grumbles and stands there in the middle of his kitchen, trying to remember where they have been keeping the plasters.

It's not easy- there are so many shelves in the large house, full of all of the books that Perdita adores. There's _A Winter's Tale, Hogwarts: A History, Ithaka, Basic Charms for Household Use, The Odyssey,_ and so many more that he honestly just blinks around it most of the time. It's her touch on the place and he loves that it feels like her, even if he'll hardly ever admit it out loud.

After he realizes that there are no plasters to be had, he goes to change into something presentable before Apparating into the closest pharmacy. Draco heads straight for the First Aid aisle- he doesn't remember how many times he's had to make a trip here before he had met Perdita, and he's surprised his hand still knows where to reach for the plain ones.

The store is darker than he remembers, is one of his only conscious thoughts, but that is hardly surprising. Life is dark nowadays- flickering lights are the least of his worries.

As he checks out at the register- thirteen sickles and two knuts- the cashier silently hands him a wanted poster. All the energy he has is not enough to read it and he has this temptation to just make it into a paper airplane and magic it away.

But Draco _just_ notices the official paper against the pads of his fingers and he just sighs before looking at the picture.

He does a doubletake.

Draco doesn't remember the last time he's seen Granger's face- whether it was a few moments before the Second Wizarding War was officially in full swing, or whether it was in the blur of some line-up after the victory of-?

He stops his thoughts in their tracks and takes the poster, acting like it meant nothing to him.

The first place Draco goes after he leaves is to the Muggle post office. Every Wednesday, Perdita receives letters from her contact for work, Arnold, and every Wednesday, he picked them up for her. He will never admit to the undying curiosity that ripped through him whenever he held the envelope in his hand, but it did- terribly.

But he shrugs it off.

There's nothing to shrug off today- the usual envelope is not in the mailbox, so Draco goes back to the Malfoy Manor.

Perdita is still not back.

He's not worried.

-o-

_It had been the kind of meeting most people think of as romantic. Christmas party at the Ministry and Draco had been just sitting at a table, leaning back on his chair. Across the way was a young woman. There had been nothing truly remarkable about her- curly blonde hair and brown eyes that were cool and calculating to a degree that was almost impressive._

_Almost._

_It was interesting, how no one seemed to approach her- as if she didn't exist, swirling her drink in front of her._

_But _he_ had noticed her. He had stood up and walked over to her. She hadn't looked up as his steps came closer to her spot by the bar, instead looking into her drink as if she was having a very intent, interesting conversation with it._

"_Were you hired just recently?" he had asked, drawling as per usual._

"_Why would you say that?" Her voice wasn't small, but it didn't carry. Her eyebrows had been raised, but still she wasn't looking at him._

"_Because I've never seen you before."_

"_So you know everyone who frequents these halls?" Her voice had been colored amused and she glimpsed up once and he almost froze before nodding sharply._

"_It's safer knowing than not, I've found." Looking out at the fragile calm that surrounded his coworkers, he watched her from just the corner of his eyes. "I'm Malfoy. Draco Malfoy."_

_She had given a small giggle at his introduction to his consternation before she wiped the mirth of her face until it was blanker than fresh snow. "Didn't your parents ever teach you about stranger danger?" She had paused before adding as an afterthought, "I'm Perdita. Just Perdita."_

-o-

_**Tomorrow, 9:06 PM**_

He will walk back home through the magical parts of London, hands in the pockets of his suit. His blonde hair will be slicked back and he will begin to feel a small tinge of panic.

Perdita will not have come back that night and she won't come back ever again, he will fret. It's a dangerous world and it's only because of her that he hasn't broken yet. Nothing will have gone as he had expected as a naïve simplistic child and it _hurts_.

He will not remember what hope looks like, because he's seen it on many faces and has killed it- hope and people that have possessed it.

Draco will have killed himself in more ways than he will care to name.

Leaving the house tomorrow will not be an ideal plan, so he will lounge around and wait for Perdita.

On the counter tomorrow, he will find the wanted poster just where he had left it today, right next to a picture that will have mysteriously popped up. It's of Perdita, he knows, but…

Draco will realize that he miss what people look like when they grow up a bit- when they dye their hair- when an occasional lack of luck when scavenging for food leaves one _changed_.

Then everything will hit him like a bundle of bricks and he'll be out of commission until tomorrow, because he will not be able to believe it. He will not believe that he had missed so many things.

Like how much he misses her- Perdita- Hermione- _her_.

-o-

_It was a movie night- Perdita always had had a fascination for Muggle things- and his head had been in her lap. She's dropping grapes in his mouth and he had thought he would feel like he was on the top of the world if it wasn't for the fact she would seem strangely _amused_ by his air of… air of egocentric satisfaction._

_The movie had been some old spy movie, and there's a couple fighting. The man had been screaming at the woman, asking her- the spy- if it had all been a lie. She wasn't teary-eyed at all._

_Draco had grabbed a grape from the bowl and thrown it at the screen. "That's silly," he had complained. "Why's she not reacting? Isn't she supposed to… love him, or something?"_

_Perdita's voice had been calm- not thoughtful or provocative- matter of fact, really. As if she had known something he did not. "She knew the whole time that it would come to this. Everything has been leading up to that moment- she's steeled against it. She loves him but…"_

_She had paused, and he looks up at her just in time to catch an expression of indecision._

"_She has a job to do- he's new to the equation- a new factor, so he can't change a damn thing."_

_From the couch, they had listened to the man repeat the line, "Was everything just a _lie_ with you? Did you _ever_ tell me the truth?"_

_She didn't flush or anything- just casted him a steady gaze. "I didn't lie about the little things- what I like with my coffee in the morning, what I like to do with my free time, or what is my favorite kind of midnight snack."_

"_Those are such _little things_. Like they matter," the man had snorted._

_The woman had grabbed his arm as he tried to turn away from her and she forced him to _look at her_._

"_The little things add up," she said softly. "Who lies about the little things? Who _bothers_? So many things are little- and they matter too, do they not?"_

-o-

_**The Day After Tomorrow, midnight**_

He will franticly toss everything out of the letter box on her desk- tear through the postcards from Athens and letters from _Arnold_ (he will know who that is then- how could he have _ever_ believed it was anyone other than who it really was?).

The young man will not come to grips with the truth the day after tomorrow nor will it be the day after that. Being played for the fool- for it will seem impossible to him that anything could have been real to her.

And he will think to himself, _To think I bought a ring_._ To think I believed._

He will think everything is false- that he's been played- that there had been no truth.

He will forget about the way she dances to the Beatles when she thinks he's at work. He will forget the way she always sits in her night attire on the couch, waiting for him if it's a late night. He will forget her favorite ice cream, the way she liked to slowly swirl her tongue around the spoon and how he would just tense at the movement.

The day after tomorrow, he will search in his mind for moments when he should've known something was up- that were _telling_. He will think of everything wrong that could've been true and were not really so.

**_Draco will find nothing._**

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You're probably asking yourself, "... wtf was that- where's the Dramione, you strange, strange person?"  
Well.  
If you completely missed it...  
read it again. Because it's there.

Cheers!  
MERRY CHRISTMAS, HAPPY NEW YEARS, & ALL THAT JAZZ!


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